But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do-

determined to save

the only life you could save.

- "The Journey," Mary Oliver

"I'm paying you to work, not sleep, Ramon."

"That was awesome!" Wally whooped in celebration, tearing back his mask as they reached the safety of the cortex. He was flush with the adrenaline high of a successful meta capture. "You saw that, Harry—right?"

"I saw your vitals tank for a solid six seconds," said Harry.

Wally shifted. "I mean, yeah, the meta got the whammy on the both of us, but Cisco had some brilliant quick-thinking—"

"Ramon."

"You deviated from the plan," Cisco said. "We've talked about that. We can only be a team if we have each other's backs." Because Wally adopted the look of a kicked puppy, Cisco softened. "But overall great job out there, Kid. I can't believe how much you've improved."

"Thanks in no small part to you. Your training has really paid off," Wally said with a grin. Cisco removed his goggles with a wince. Wally noticed. "Hey, Cisco, you alright, man?"

"I'm excellent," said Cisco. He clapped a hand on Wally's shoulder. "Take the day off tomorrow, would you? You've earned it."

"Ramon!"

Cisco jerks awake, and he doesn't know what he's supposed to be fighting, at first. When he squints, it's at sterile, corporate lighting. He is not at STAR, where he last remembers being, following a nasty run-in with a meta. No, the desk beneath his cheek is wooden, and there are far too many people in his periphery, and it's David Singh's face that spells death inches from his own.

"Cap'n." Cisco shoots upright, disoriented. His hand swipes past the open bottle of painkillers on the desk, and the pills scatter across the floor just as agony flares up behind Cisco's eyelids. He groans involuntarily and digs the heel of his hand between his eyebrows.

"Ramon, are you hungover?"

"No, sir." Cisco pries his eyes open and tries to stand, but the fresh stab wound on his thigh suggests a different course of action. "Gah. Absolutely not—sir—" He twists in his seat to pick up the spilled ibuprofen. And, right, healing broken ribs. "Shit. I mean, just a headache." And he settles back in his chair, abandoning all hope of movement.

Across the table, Singh lifts one slow, solitary eyebrow.

"A really bad headache," Cisco clarifies. "I, uh, haven't been getting much sleep lately." Which is true, granted. Though partly a lie by

omission, because Singh does not need to know about the broken rib from the fight with the plant-based meta last week, and he does not need to know about the stab wound from the fight with the telepathic meta last night, and he definitely does not need to know about the trainwreck-caliber migraines from excess vibing.

Because it's not like Team STAR knows about any of it, either.

"This is the second time I've found you passed out at your desk this week," Singh scolds. "I appreciate all the extra hours you've been putting in, but I didn't hire you full-time just to watch you snore."

"Understood, sir. I'll drink more coffee, sir."

"Or you could take some time off," Singh says. "You've been working here, what, a month and a half? Surely you've built up some vacation hours. Maybe take a page from Detective West's book."

"That's bereavement leave."

"Like I said."

Cisco looks blearily up at Singh. The man has taken a seat on the other side of the desk—never a good sign—and he observes Cisco carefully. He was there, after all, at Barry Allen's memorial service, and he saw how much Cisco wept. He's undoubtedly noticed the fact that Cisco can't go up into the place that used to be Barry's lab, not even to see Julian.

"I'd rather work," Cisco says after a time. "Keeping my mind active keeps me grounded."

It's what he's been telling himself for a month and a half, anyway. He requested a permanent position at the CCPD a week after Barry's disappearance into the speedforce, a day after the memorial service, and he's churned out more pieces of non-lethal counter-meta tech than he can count since then. He took on full responsibility of Team STAR around the same time, spending his evenings directing Wally, Harry, and Cynthia whenever she dropped by his earth.

So he's not lying when he says that sleep loss is a real issue. CCPD during the day. Superheroing during the evening. The remainder of the time he spends either trying to vibe Barry or trying not to vibe Caitlin, and he's not sure which is harder.

"Ramon." Singh snaps his fingers, and Cisco realizes he's been drifting again. "Did you hear me? I said this isn't healthy. Whatever it is. I don't know what kind of self-flagellation you're trying to work through here, and I don't care how much good work you're putting out. Your health takes priority in this department."

Abruptly, he rises from his chair, adjusts his tie, turns to leave.

"That's it?" Cisco says. "No slap on the wrist? No inspiring speech?"

Singh tilts his head. "What do you want me to say?"

"You're my boss!" The words come out with more vehemence than he intends, and he punctuates the next with a slap to the desk. "I want you to tell me what I'm supposed to do!"

"You've never needed anyone to tell you what to do," says Singh with equivalent sharpness. "Nobody else in this precinct, this city, can even come close to touching what you create. I'll be damned if you're not one of the brightest minds this century has ever seen, and I believe you could make a name for yourself if you'd just put some stock in your own merit!"

"My own merit isn't good enough," Cisco says. "My own merit means jack."

For a moment, Singh stills. "Looks like your friend has it figured out."

It takes Cisco a moment to realize Singh is motioning at the newspaper at Cisco's elbow, and even longer to realize that he's talking about the by-line and not the headline.

"She's really taken flight," Cisco says. With no one to keep her grounded, he adds silently. It wasn't that Barry held Iris back, necessarily—in fact, Iris had written some of her most nuanced pieces while in his company—but she's coped with Barry's disappearance by spending less time in STAR and more time building up a name as one of CCPN's star reporters.

"I'm sure Detective West is proud," Singh says conversationally, like he doesn't know that it's grief which has spurred that family to such extremes.

"I'm sure he is. I wouldn't know."

"And Central City's new hero," Singh continues. "I'm sure a lot of people appreciate him."

"Yeah," says Cisco. "Kid Flash is stepping up to the plate."

"I actually wasn't talking about Kid Flash."

Pause. Cisco looks back down to where Singh motions. The headline reads: Vibe Leads Charge Against Exploding Meta at Central City Library.

"Seems to me," Singh says, "wherever the Flash went, he left behind an excellent replacement to lead in his stead."

"But what if…" Cisco swallows the lump in his throat, which has replaced the burst of anger. "What if Vibe never asked for that?"

Singh raises his eyebrows in an expression that clearly reads, Asked for what?

"I mean, the weight of it all. Maybe he didn't ask for it. Because nobody could ever want it. People's lives. People's…" He takes another shaky breath. "What's the point of being good, of being a leader, when all it does is get people killed? You try to do the right thing, you try to inspire people, and they're so inspired their heart stops."

He's woken up too many times by visions of Ronnie, of close the door, Cisco, of doing the noble thing and snuffing out the life of his friend in the process. He's woken up tasting the residue of that terrible, terrible joy which had flowed through him at the realization that he'd allowed Caitlin's life to be saved at the expense of her soul. He's woken up wondering why he spent so much time telling HR how much good he could do in the world.

Because it was Cisco's words that gave HR the push to do the right thing. To die.

Barry had navigated many curses as leader of team Flash—but Cisco never realized this was one he would have to inherit upon taking his place.

"Maybe he's not cut out for any of it. Giving his team speeches motivating them to give their lives. Moving human lives like it's some kind of game."

He realizes Singh hasn't said a word to any of this and quiets, the tips of his ears burning. Hurriedly, he strains downward and begins collecting the pain pills from the floor. One by one they clatter back into their plastic container.

When he straightens back up again, aching with the effort, Singh is standing closer to the desk and thumbing the newspaper on it.

"Every day I send my cops out into dangerous situations knowing that they might not come home," Singh says. "Hell, I get paid to motivate them to put their lives on the line. And let me tell you, some days that's just as hard as the day I was promoted. But being a leader is about knowing that the right choices and the hard choices often overlap." His dark eyes flick to Cisco. "We're not just in the business of saving lives. We're in the business of changing them. Helping people see their own worth. Letting them transform the world in the way they see fit."

He breaks eye contact first, which surprises Cisco. Not that Cisco's complaining; he's not sure he wants to see what's in Singh's eyes, and less sure he wants Singh to see what's in his. Instead, Singh raps the newspaper with his thumb.

"You know, I was there," Singh says. "I was inside the library when it started caving in, and I watched this Vibe character singlehandedly stop the whole thing from collapsing. Maybe he never asked for this, but I wouldn't be any more alive if the Flash had been there in his place. Just food for thought."

"Mm." Cisco rolls a single pill between his thumb and forefinger, careful not to betray surprise.

"And if what you think about him is true, maybe it will get easier for him once he becomes less afraid of the people who support him. When he starts trusting them with their own choices instead of inheriting that pain himself." Again, Singh turns to go. "Take the damn ibuprofen, Ramon. And get some sleep."

"Yes sir," Cisco says, but Singh is already gone. The usual hustle and bustle of CCPD washes back over Cisco, the fade-in after a movie freeze-frame, and for a moment Cisco wonders if the pain and the untreated-unhealed-unforgettable wounds have actually pushed him over the edge into hallucination. Because nothing has changed, because Joe's desk is still empty, because there's an empty forensics lab over his head, because Iris' name is on the by-line, because both of Cisco's best friends are still gone.

The only thing that's changed is the position of the newspaper, with Singh's invisible fingerprints burned into the full-color photo of Central City's new protector.

Cisco pops one pill and, thinking better of it, one more. It will ease the pressure in his head, he knows, but it can't dull what he needs it for. Not really.

Not yet.

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment below; I really appreciate it.

Till next time,

Penn